


All Good Things

by Gravitydrop



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Biting, Frottage, Gentle Sex, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 14:49:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18390593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gravitydrop/pseuds/Gravitydrop
Summary: He reaches inside himself again, attempting to grasp and hold onto the mild, bubbling sensation that grows there, rooting itself deep inside. But like sand, it slips through his fingers. Like time, he’s running out.





	All Good Things

There’s a deep-seated emotion, lost and tangled within the confines of V’s tattooed chest that stirs awake, vivid and overwhelming when Nero lazily drags his lips along each line, delicate and holy. For someone who can be so outwardly rough and crass at times, he treats V’s delicate figure like the finest of silks, worships each part of his body with his hands and tongue, lavishing him with his full-attention as if they’re the only beings left on earth. Nero moves leisurely over V’s chest despite his own heated arousal, still trapped by the confines of his jeans, discarding his own needs to fulfill another’s. 

It’s far from romantic scenery, and the image of V’s dark hair spread out around his head like a black halo contrasts sharply with the tangled and tattered white sheets that lay draped over the brown couch that he lays upon. The smell of stale cigarette smoke clings to the air, much to both of their distaste, while dim, yellowed light filters in through the aged curtains, casting soft shadows in its wake. The sofa isn’t quite big enough for both of them, but Nero’s determined to make due with what’s at their disposal, hovering over V’s slender frame and pressing his lips repeatedly onto his cooled skin.

The feeling simmers up again, and while not wholly unwelcome, fills V’s tattooed chest with an unfamiliar warmth that settles in between the bones of his ribcage, gradually curling downwards into his belly, setting him ablaze from the inside out. It’s hard to focus on the feeling and just as equally difficult to push it aside, not with the way Nero breathes deeply in the crook of his neck, biting down with measured care before lavishing his tongue in broad strokes over the reddened area, drawing a few shaky sighs from the dark-haired man. A particularly sharp nip wrings a sudden whimper and gasp from V, mirrored in return by Nero who moans softly, muffled by damp skin, as if he’s the one on the receiving end of all this dedicated attention. 

Regardless, he’s drawn back to his clouded thoughts, unable to solely focus on Nero’s touch. He wants to pin them down and give them a name, to dissect them and attempt to stop them before they become too heavy, though his efforts prove difficult with Nero continuing to breathe heavily into his neck, hand moving lower to tease at the edge of V’s pants. He fumbles awkwardly with his belt buckle for a few moments, stopping to rub circles with his thumbs over prominent, exposed hip bones. His hand slips down and inside, and V groans, head rolling back as Nero works over his arousal slowly, answering V with soft curses under his breath.

In his haze, V dazedly recalls poems, quotes, anecdotes and stories that speak loosely of these feelings in mystifying ways. The pages, the drawn out words that seek to describe this emotion, he decides, cannot come close enough. He blearily thinks that language, any one of the hundreds, aren’t able to describe what he feels now, that all the great writers and poets throughout history always fell just short of capturing it and making it their own. He doesn’t understand the emotions totally himself, he feels his entire being remains and has been absent of them for decades, no warm or comforting memories to call back upon. He reaches inside himself again, attempting to grasp and hold onto the mild, bubbling sensation that grows there, rooting itself deep inside. But like sand, it slips through his fingers. Like time, he’s running out. His tight grip on Nero’s biceps is the only thing keeping him grounded in reality, holding on and leaving soft crescent shaped marks in Nero’s flesh to keep himself from slipping away completely. 

V must go too quiet for a moment, locked in thought, because Nero is crawling back up his body, hand slipping from inside his pants, the motion causing V to shudder. He towers over V, caging him in with his arms on either side of his head, coming to rest on his forearms. He presses his damp forehead against V’s own, the beginnings of concern marring his strong features, eyebrows drawn together as V watches him with lidded green eyes. 

“Hey uh, you still doing okay V?” 

He’s far too gentle with V. Too kind, too uncharacteristically soft when it’s them and them alone. He hasn’t pegged Nero for someone quite so perceptive, but there’s something telling in the way he’s noticed something was off. V wants to ask for him to hurry up and get it over with, to fuck him like he means it and leave him a broken, fucked-apart and cum-filled husk. He wants to demand Nero sear rough bruises and marks into his pale skin, ruin his frail figure and leave him sore and wrecked. 

He’s wholly undeserving, simultaneously feeding off the tender affection so freely offered and yet wanting to push it away, afraid of what might happen if he’s given too much. Terrified it will destroy him before his destined time. It’s all absolutely wasted on him, it should be saved for someone worthy of this type of kindness. Anyone else. He wants to scream it, to force it out of Nero unkindly, to grip his broad shoulders with what little strength he has and shake some sort sense into his thick skull. But instead, he parts his lips slightly, eyes averting Nero’s concerned gaze, pausing for a moment before leaning up and pressing a chaste kiss to Nero’s lips, missing the mark and kissing him off-kilter. It’s perfect.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, soft and sultry, punctuating the words by nuzzling his face against the side of Nero’s own, long fingers reaching up and brushing through his short hair. 

Though the words only carry a semblance of truth, Nero seems content with the answer, mumbling his understanding before sitting back onto his knees, lifting his shirt up and over his head before tossing it onto the floor beside them.

V breathes out a needy sigh when he catches a glimpse of just how tight Nero’s pants are, already so desperate without having been touched much in return. Nero makes quick work of V’s own pants first, finally growing somewhat impatient, working them down and tossing them to the side with their other discarded clothes before working on his own, struggling to pull them off. He swears again, frustrated when his leg gets caught, and V huffs a soft chuckle. 

Nero moves back down V’s slender frame once more, the cool metal of his devil breaker against his now heated skin, human hand reaching between his thighs and himself slowly, finally giving into the search for some kind of desperately needed relief. And V, unlike himself, draws his own forearm up and over his eyes, mouth panting as Nero stares up at him from between his trembling legs, stopping his grip on his own cock and reaching out confidently to give V a few measured strokes, voice murmuring something about how gorgeous he is, how good he looks under him like this. 

V’s reaction is immediate and he draws air in roughly through his teeth, needy whimpers pulled from the back of his throat. Nero’s response comes in the form of hushed curses under his breath, and V feels dizzy again when he mutters something about wanting to blow him. Nero repositions himself in what little space they’re given, kissing and nipping the skin on V’s pale hips, breathing in his scent, sandalwood laced with something else warm and soothing, before lapping sloppily at the base of his cock. 

And Nero, horrible, cruel Nero, drags his tongue, hot and heavy up the underside of V’s cock far too slowly, dark pupils blown wide in the dim light as he watches every quickening rise and fall of V’s bony chest, every subtle expression change on V’s face, watching him bite the bottom of his lip to keep from making too much noise. He slides back down only to repeat the action, earning himself a somewhat irritated, sharp look from V.

“Okay, okay,” Nero laughs softly, adjusting himself to take the tip of V’s glistening dick into his mouth, swallowing him and taking him down, down, until V is hitting the back of his throat, and it’s all suddenly too much. 

V’s body seemingly reacts on it’s own accord, and he arches up from the sofa, hands immediately coming to rest in Nero’s hair, fingers curling and uncurling with the effort, attempting to get a better grip. Nero doesn’t mind, seemingly spurred on by V’s sudden enthusiasm, reaching back down once again to jerk himself quickly in time with the bobbing of his head, squeezing the tip and spreading the glistening precum settled there. If there were any remnants of thoughts still cascading through V’s mind, they’re silenced now, completely quieted down and replaced with the growing warmth in V’s lower belly, and the sloppy, lewd noises Nero makes as he sucks him hard and eagerly. He pulls off far too abruptly, panting hotly over the cooling skin of his dick, spittle connecting his shining lips with the tip of V’s cock. The sight itself causes V to involuntarily shudder. 

Nero treats him with such sincere and genuine affection, even now in this moment. Like he’s not just a piece of something greater; like he’s whole, complete, and worthy and deserving of the love he’s been shown. There’s a selfish part of V, deep down, where he hopes he’s the only one who Nero treats this way, the only one he touches with such reverence.

“I wanna try something,” Nero says breathlessly, sitting himself up and reaching back down for his jeans, reaching into a few pockets and fumbling around before pulling out a small packet of lube, tearing it open and spreading it on himself, wet and glistening.

“Oh?” V questions, wondering briefly what Nero has planned for him before Nero begins softly speaking up again. 

“I want you…” Nero trails off momentarily, straddling one of V’s slender thighs and lining their dicks up alongside one another, wrapping his hand around them both, his metal arm planted firmly beside V’s chest, keeping him upright, “like this.” 

The sensation is immediate as Nero rocks his hips, testing the waters and spreading the lube between them, shifting himself into a more comfortable position. V’s head falls back in a shaky, breathy moan, green eyes closing as his one hand grips white knuckled onto the side of the couch, the other reaching up to comb his fingers through Nero’s hair, his forehead damp with sweat already. It only takes a few more thrusts to fall into the right rhythm and proper timing, with V’s more controlled grinds against Nero’s sharp and desperate ones. They slip up and fall out of time once more before the slide is perfect, and V licks his lips, enamored with the sensation. Instantly, every nerve in V’s body is completely ignited; lit on fire in a way he so absolutely craves, feeling his calm and collected control start to slip up. He’ll be ruined, absolutely, in a way he can’t control. He’ll welcome it in, let it take over and push him to his outer limits. 

Nero above him has been as patient as he can manage the entire time, his own restraint long gone as his thrusts become incredibly more frantic, already chasing the release he so desperately needs.

“You feel so fucking good,” Nero groans, further praise beginning to spill from his lips, lost in the all-encompassing sensation. 

V can’t manage to formulate a response, not when he hangs on the edge of his own orgasm, eyebrows knit together as he pants, hard and fast. He feels trapped on the ledge, body tensing sharply as Nero presses forward, licking a hot stripe up and over his chest, over his nipple and towards his neck, biting hard onto a tendon he feels there, growling deeply and breathing roughly through his nostrils. It’s in that moment that everything becomes too much, and V’s hands move quickly to grasp onto Nero’s defined deltoids, nails pressing into his skin as he throws his head back, eyelashes fluttering as he cums, open mouthed and silent, beautiful and broken. Nero slows his intense pace, grinding to a slow stop and moves his hand over both of them, spreading the mess between them, watching as V shudders at the oversensitivity, whimpering.

Before Nero can say anything or sit up, V yanks him back down with what little strength he has left by tugging on his arm, pushing Nero’s filthied hand out of the way to wrap his own tattooed fingers around his still-throbbing shaft. Nero’s fingers curl and uncurl in the draped sheet, a look of concentration washing over his features as he focuses on his own orgasm short puffs of air slipping from his lips. V seems to know what he’s doing despite the odd angle, curling his palm over the head of his dick, thumb tracing softly over the tip before pumping him in quick, heated strokes. He won’t tease, not after Nero’s shown such restraint and discipline. 

“Fuck, V,” he groans low in his ear through gritted teeth, “M’gonna cum.”

“That’s it, Nero,” V murmurs, purring and kissing along Nero’s defined jawline, returning the favor from earlier with his own sharp, misplaced nips. 

He can barely manage to keep his hand in place with Nero’s wild and frenzied thrusts, throwing his arm over his shoulders as he hangs on tightly. Nero growls low in his throat as his hips thrust erratically, one hand bracing himself on the armrest, as he slams forward, crying out and slicking V’s hand with his cum, excess spilling over onto his pale belly before coming to a slow and shaky stop. He carefully collapses on top of V, kisses his mouth far too uncoordinated and sloppy, and sighs deeply, completely worn. 

Nero presses even closer, like he seeks to slide under V’s skin and become one with him, too hot and overwhelming, his crushing weight overbearing and yet somehow so, so welcome. Well, until V struggles a bit to breathe under the larger man, coughing slightly. 

“Oh,” Nero pushes himself up, adjusting himself to lay beside V in the small space, easing close, his hands coming up to rub V’s back soothingly, “sorry about that.” 

“It’s fine,” V comments, eyes shut. 

He feels Nero shift, doesn’t bother to open his eyes to see what he’s doing, but feels him pull his blue jacket over them both as the sweat on their skin begins to cool rapidly. His body still trembles slightly at the energy exertion, and Nero’s hand slides down further to rub at his quivering thighs. V feels himself momentarily begin to start to drift off before cracking open his eyes, catching Nero’s own watching him in return. Nero smiles crookedly, averting his gaze and apologizes, tucking his head under V’s chin and into his chest instead, nuzzling in and sighing. It’s… nice.

V feels himself slowly let go of any previous fears and reaches out to cup the back of Nero’s skull, fingers playing with his hair there, running down the back of his neck tenderly. They’re certainly still there, they always are, but they’ve quieted down now, the loud buzz now a soft and bearable hum in the back of his mind. He’s too tired now to focus on them clearly now, Nero’s presence and soft breathing softening the edges around him, no longer sharp and painful, no longer haunting his waking moments. It’s not long before his eyes and limbs grow heavy as exhaustion spreads out and seeps into into every crevice of his being. He finds himself thankful. Thankful that’s he’s too tired to to think about his inevitable death, about how these welcome feelings of love and kindness that Nero has shown him in what short time they’ve known each other will and come to a crushing, painful end. Like all good things do.

**Author's Note:**

> Dang Nero, how many red orbs did it cost you to fuck in the van? Bet he had to take out a loan for that, honestly. Thanks for reading! (Gravitren @ Twitter)


End file.
